Pirate
by Vexie McCay
Summary: What went on during that drastic yet brief VERY brief transformation of Steve the Pirate to Steve the Guy? Why was he under the belief he was a pirate in the first place? Where’d he manage to get that awesome haircut? This is my 5AM induced idea of it.


Pirate

AJ Wonkette

Summary: What went on during that drastic yet brief (VERY brief) transformation of Steve the Pirate to Steve the Guy? Why was he under the belief he was a pirate in the first place? Where'd he manage to get that awesome haircut? This is my 5-AM induced idea of it.

Feedback: Yes, I'm insane and I want you to tell me just how insane I am. Other comments also welcome. And feel free to flame this fic, it truly is a rather silly topic.

Disclaimer: I don't own Dodgeball, in the legal way or the DVD way, thank goodness.

AN: Steve is pretty much the only thing I really liked about that particular movie, except for the random appearances of famous people and Ben Stiller's amusing argument tactics. And Alan Tudyk just so happens to be one of my favorite actors. He's completely awesome. And the strawberry blond (can you call guys' hair strawberry-blond?) his hair was in that movie looked really good on him. I love that color on guys, when they have the eyes and skin-tone to pull it off. Which Mr. Tudyk does.

Explanation for this insanity: I wrote this fic at 5 in the morning. I was far too wired all nite to sleep (thanks to a Mocha Frappuccino, among other things) and ended up watching Dodgeball around 3AM then decided it'd be fun write a fic. I re-read it after I got some sleep and I could think semi-straight, and I liked it. This is the _revised_ version of that fic, however, which is actually readable. Don't ask me where I come up with these things. My muses have an odd sense of humor. glares at the chibis who serve as her muses

I'm not who I thought I was, and unfortunately, I don't know who I am. I mean, I know my name. I know my phone number, both home and cell, and I know my address. I know my face; big blue eyes that look a little too innocent, very long, wild, strawberry blond hair which I didn't bother to brush today, scraggly goatee. Nothing much to look at. It doesn't matter, really. Looks don't have anything to do with it. Well, actually, that's a lie. Yes, they do. Just a little bit. It's part of the problem, as a matter of fact. It never really bothered me before. But it is now, for the first time in a long time. All because of a single remark:

"_You are not a pirate!" _

I've heard it a million and one times, and it never once bothered me. Not too awful much, anyway. Most of the time I'd just shoot an evil glare at the person who said it, or on rare occasions I'd pull my knife on them. Only if I _really _didn't like them or was in a bad temper or something, though. But when Peter said it. . . it was different. It actually stung. I don't know why. Maybe it was because of the slow, finalizing way he said it. Or maybe it was because he threw me up against the wall, which actually sort of hurt. Or maybe it was simply the fact that he's always been accepting of everyone, letting us be who we are and never judging us or asking any questions about it. And when he said something, it was usually the truth, without any lace or anything to make it more pretty. That and he'd even defended me before, which no one ever really did.

"_Your best player thinks he's a pirate!" _

"_Don't listen to him, Steve. He's just trying to mess with our heads. You're more of a pirate than he'll ever be." _

I listened to Peter when he told me that, too. I even believed him. But I didn't forget what was said that night. It was my first stab of doubt, even if I didn't believe it at the time. Now, though, I get it. Believe it or not, that creepazoid was actually _right_. And that right there ought to tell you something. People say _I'm _crazy (and it's probably true, for that matter), but I'm nothing compared to White Goodman. That guy is definitely a complete psychopath. And even _he _saw it. But I shrugged it off and didn't think about it too awful much until Peter agreed with him.

And they're right. I'm _not_ a pirate. I know that now. Really, I think I've always known it, deep down inside. But it just doesn't feel right, now. It's not even fun anymore. It used to be fun. I used to love it. But my game seems to have finally ended. That's all it is, anyway. That's how this whole thing started. Just a game.

I was five years old when my father left and my mother turned to drinking. I was obsessed with pirates already. Anything that had pirates in it, I begged for it. So, naturally, I decided that my father was a pirate and he'd left to go find buried treasure, and one day he'd come back to share it with me, his first mate. But until he did, I'd have to be cabin-boy to this other captain. It sort of made everything easier for me. My mother was a pirate-captain, who loved rum. I was a mere cabin boy and I had to take my lashes properly. It was just how things went on a pirate ship. It was how things were kept ship-shape. It all made sense in my mind. I couldn't see how it would be right any other way. My mother hated it.

"_You're exactly like your father!" _

She would shout that in exasperation whenever she would come and catch me at my game. It only further convinced me that my father was a pirate. Since she only said that when I was being a pirate, it must mean my father truly was one. Thus, so was I. And that was fun, it was a good thought, a good dream. Even when I knew it wasn't true, it was a fun way to escape reality when it got too rough. But the older I got, and the more of reality I saw, the more I began to depend on my game to get me by. As time went on, it even started to seep into my life. Things would pop out in my talk and actions instead of staying in my head, where I usually kept them secret. After a while, I just stopped trying to hide it and starting acting the part completely. Then I went even further and gave it all up, deciding to start dressing the part as well. At school it started out okay. They all thought it was funny.

"_Hey, Captain Stevie's comin' down the poopdeck! Who pooped on the deck, Steve?"_

I got jokes like that all the time. They thought it was hysterical to make those remarks and laugh. It never bothered me all that much. Actually, I sort of liked it. In my mind, at least everyone else was laughing. As long as I could make other people happy, it wasn't so bad. And it wasn't like I was a reject or anything. People would come up and talk to me just to see what I would say or do next. I took it as a compliment and always aimed to please my "audience" for the day, going as far out as I could to do something new. But the joke didn't last forever. By the time I graduated high-school, it had long since stopped being funny.

"_Come on, Long John Silver. Grow up, already." _

I got that a lot. And there was no limit to where those remarks came from; it was everyone who said it to me, the jocks, princesses, geeks, criminals, and even the other weirdos. But by that time I was so far into my little fantasy, I couldn't get out of it. And the more people teased me about it, the further I backed into it. It was my shield. And after a while, I even had myself completely convinced I was a pirate. It stopped being a game. It was who I was, and there was nothing I could do about it. And in accepting that, I became immune to them. I started ignoring everything that happened to me, and stopped minding it. In doing so, I managed to be a pretty cheerful, easy-going guy. And the few people who actually took the time to get to know me put up with me because of that. And I realize I'm lucky to have them. Because now I see myself from everyone else's point of view.

It's no wonder they laughed and pointed and threw random objects at me. Of course, the more polite ones would just smile nervously, then duck their heads together to whisper about me. People would purposely bump me and spill things on me. I never paid much attention to it, brushing it off as bad luck. But now it made me think. Now I know why. I must look like an idiot, running around dressed like Captain Jack Sparrow, and acting something like him, too. Though, technically, since I was doing it first, he was acting like me. Doesn't matter. It's the same effect either way you look at it. I must have looked so _stupid_. It's no wonder everyone I meet thinks I'm crazy.

Which bring us up to the dilemma I was having currently, which would be the train of thoughts I began with. I'd trudged back to the hotel and gone up to my room and fallen into a chair.

And there I sat, wondering what I should do about this problem. Who was I? I wasn't a pirate, that was definitely for sure. But who was I? My hand strayed to the object that I'd found in a drawer, though I'd not yet done what I intended to do. I picked up the pair of scissors hesitantly. For the past hour I'd been picking them up and putting them down again, unsure of what I really wanted to do. Should I do it? Should I find out who the man under the pirate-costume is? I stood up and walked over to the sink. I set the scissors down again, but this time only to pull my long blond hair back into a ponytail. I picked up the scissors again, looking at my reflection one last time. I bit my lip and closed the blades around the top of the ponytail, wincing as they sliced through my hair. A moment later, I held the long ponytail in my hand, staring at it in disbelief. I'd done it. I'd actually cut off a whole lot of my hair. I looked up in the mirror at the wild tangles that now fell into my face. I paused a moment to remove my shirt, then resumed cutting.

I watched the curls fall into the sink with a small smile, thinking about the fit the hotel people were going to have when they found the giant mess I was making. A short while later, I had a rather large pile of hair in the sink and not half as much left on my head. I looked up and my mouth fell open. My hair was now standing wildly on end, and still a little dirty, but it was _short_. Really short. And to my surprise, it really looked pretty good. I ran my hand through my hair experimentally. It felt kind of neat, so I did it again. I smiled. Then I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. Hmm. Time for step two of anti-pirate-ization.

I walked over and opened the door to the room that adjoined to mine. Thankfully, Justin had left his door open. I located his bag and rummaged through it until I found what I was looking for. His very expensive looking razor. He claimed it was for his face, but I know for a fact he has no facial hair to speak of, but used it instead on his legs. Disgraceful, really, but it was lucky for me. Even more luckily, it happened to be a brand-new razor, and unopened at that. I took the razor back to my room and looked up in the mirror again. I took a deep breath and set to work. A few minutes later, someone else's reflection stared back at me in amazement. The short hair, the smooth face, it couldn't possibly be mine. But it was. I smiled. Perfect. But I caught something I'd missed. The gold tooth. It really wasn't neccessary. I'd found it in a costume shop one day and thought it was neat. It was only for the look, nothing more.

I reached into my mouth and pulled out the cover, making a face at the odd taste that it left behind. But when I smiled again, it was a pure-white smile. The smile of a guy, not a pirate. I took a quick shower to wash my hair, then wrapped a towel around my waist and began digging through my suitcase. Hmm. What could I wear? I realized in dismay I had no normal clothes whatsoever, which was a problem. That meant shopping. I groaned. How _lovely_. I finally decided on a pair of light brown pants and a white button-down shirt. Without the accessories, they were close enough to normal clothes, and it would definitely do for Wal-Mart, which was where I was headed next.

The boots were unavoidable, considering I owned no other shoes, and Justin's shoes wouldn't fit me. Again, it would have to do. But if I hid the floppiness of them underneath my loose pant legs, they looked a bit less pirate-ish, and hopefully no one would look that close anyway. I grabbed a key and started to leave the room when I caught a glance in the full length mirror next to the door. My mouth fell open as I stared at the guy staring back at me. It wasn't me. It couldn't be me. The hair, the face, the clothes. . .it was so different. So. . .ordinary. I wasn't Steve the Pirate anymore. I was just Steve. I took a deep breath, suddenly a little nervous. It was time to test Steve the Normal Guy against the world.

I walked outside, surprised for a moment at how bright it was. What time was it, anyway? It couldn't too awful late, I reasoned. I knew I had to have plenty of time before the finals began, so I didn't worry too much about it. I started off to find a Wal-mart, my mission back on my mind. I watched people's faces as I passed them, waiting anxiously for their reactions. For once, no one looked at me twice. No one laughed or pointed. No one whispered. The only smiles I got were normal "I have no idea who the heck you are, but it's nice to see you anyway" smiles. Everything was going great until-

"Oof!" _SPLAT!_

I looked up at the random guy who'd run into me and spilled whatever he'd been drinking–from the smell it was a mocha frappuccino –all over me. My heart sank. It hadn't changed. He still knew. I didn't know how he knew, but obviously he did. Somehow, my plan hadn't worked. But then something amazing happened. Something that never happened to me before. The random guy looked up at me in apologetic horror.

"Woah. Sorry about that. The sidewalks here are crap, I tripped over that crack." He explained, handing me a wad of napkins from a large brown sack with the large, green Starbucks logo on the side. He winced. "Man, I got that all over your white shirt, too. I'm really sorry." I had to mentally poke myself to keep from staring at him in surprise.

"Um," I coughed, trying to take the pirate brogue out of my voice. "No problem, I guess." I was pleased to hear my voice was smooth and not at all pirate-ish. The guy grinned and I returned the smile, my spirits lifting again. I moved on, not really caring about the messed-up shirt at all. I was out to buy some new ones, after all. Besides, not only had that guy apologized to me, there had been no jokes, no nothing. He had truly not meant to spill that stuff all over me and was really sorry about it. It was absolutely amazing. No one ever did that. Ever.

My good mood increased when I reached my destination: A Wal-Mart Superstore. I went inside and made a few quite neccessary purchases, the payment of which I put on Justin's credit card he had just so happened to leave lying on his nightstand. I didn't think he'd mind too much. He probably wouldn't even notice it. It was only about a hundred or so dollars worth of clothes and a $35 pair of shoes and a few other less expensive things. Hardly noticeable at all. One could only hope, anyway.

I walked back out into the streets with a few large bags. I went back to the hotel and after much frowning and talking to myself, decided on a pair of blue jeans and a red shirt. They weren't as comfortable as the loose pirate clothes, but they were considerably less warm, and they looked really good. The shoes were extremely comfortable. Much lighter than my big, floppy boots. I glanced at the watch I'd also bought. My eyes widened as I read the illuminated numbers.

"Oh crap!" I exclaimed. It was almost one in the afternoon! I'd missed the tournament. I raced back outside and down to the arena which, thankfully, was only a block and a bit away. I showed my competitor's badge to the guy at the door.

"Woah, you're late. The match is about over!" The guy said. I winced.

"I know." I replied, going to move past him. The doorman frowned.

"Hey, I don't remember you being on the–wait a minute! Holy Snapple!" The guy's eyes widened. "You're that pirate dude! What happened to _you?" _I grinned, though my mind was mostly elsewhere, like, on the tournament I'd missed.

"Long story, can I go in now?" I asked impatiently. The guy opened the door, still staring at me. I was used to that, and at least it was in a good way now. I think. I walked into the arena just in time to see our team swarm around Peter. White Goodman shoved past me, stuffing a powdered doughnut into his mouth like he hadn't eaten for days. His posse followed, looking slightly embarrassed and somewhat disgusted. I watched them go out the door in something that was sort of a like a cross between shock, disgust, and amusement. Apparently we'd won. I looked back out on the floor, taking a deep breath. This was it.

I walked out onto the floor, fighting my way through the crowd towards our team. That kid I can never remember the name of looked up and pointed me out to everyone else. They all turned around, stopping whatever random activity they'd been doing for a moment. I noticed the scary looking girl from Goodman's team was there, on that one kid's arm, which was a little interesting and rather scary. But it didn't concern me too awful much at the moment. I gave everyone a smile, scanning their faces carefully and registering the shock I found there. I wondered if it ws a good thing.

"Uh, hi!" I called, waving. I realized they were all still staring, and touched a hand to my now-short hair self-consciously.

"Steve! Uh, wow." Peter remarked, coming towards me, much to my relief. I really had wanted to talk to him before I dealt with everyone else.

"I thought about what you said, and. . ." I sighed. "You were right. I'm not a pirate." I said all this very carefully, keeping the accent that had become habit over the years out of my voice. To my surprise, Peter glanced down at the floor with a look which actually seemed regretful. I wondered why and prepared to ask, but then he looked back up and gave me a lopsided grin.

"Well, if you're not a pirate, then who the heck am I gonna split all this buried treasure with?" he asked, turning and pointing. I followed where he was pointing and my eyes widened. There, in the middle of the arena, sat a very large, honest-to-goodness pirate's chest. Some random casino worker opened it to display a very large amount of cash preparing to overflow it. I knew exactly what it was, of course. I'd seen the large pool being drawn on our team to win the tournament. I figured one of us must have won it.

But this made things rather complicated for me. What was I supposed to do now? Did Peter want me to be a pirate again? Well, apparently. It was his way of apologizing, he wanted me to be myself again. I knew that. Did I really want to go back to being a pirate? Not exactly. I was just finding out who I was. And I didn't really need the old game anymore. It was over. So what did I reply? The only thing one such as myself could reply in such a situation:

"Gargh!"

I guess old habits just die hard.

_Finis_

AN: Isn't it amazing how he managed to cut his own hair that nicely without even looking in the mirror? What a talented guy!

Things I shoved in. . . a line from The Breakfast Club concerning the cliques in a school, a sarcastic remark my boyfriend always makes, the "who pooped on the deck" joke my friend Kara made on a road trip, the first sentence of a different story I'm writing, one of my fav. Pirates Of The Carribean quotes, my new favorite phrase: Holy Snapple, my beloved Mocha Frappuccino, and that's all I caught on the final re-read. Could be more. Knowing me.

But whatever the case, there you have it. I'm done now. Although I encourage any other Steve The Pirate fans to write fics on him, 'cos he's an awesome character and I've only found one other fic on him. And kudos to you who wrote that! Aie!

I remain somewhat goofy:

O.G.


End file.
